


day three hundred sixty five, i don't want to be alive

by Know_Your_Paradoxes



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adult Content, Affection, Affectionate Insults, Agender Character, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Character Development, Coming of Age, Dark Comedy, Depression, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Homophobic Language, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Acephobia, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), Other, Queer Themes, References to Depression, Road Trips, Self-Destruction, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Medication, Self-Pity, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Humor, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Twenty-Somethings, Video Blog, YouTube, Young Adults, transphobic language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29807649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Know_Your_Paradoxes/pseuds/Know_Your_Paradoxes
Summary: Foster Barnes is a 20-something with no clear life goal or path. What he does have is a camera and a plan. He has 365 days to find out what he wants to live for before he decides to end it all. Can a ragtag group of strangers in a beat-up van help him find what he's looking for?
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	day three hundred sixty five, i don't want to be alive

The camera was stood haphazardly on the dashboard of his beat-up green van, tilted on its left side as he looked into the lens. That old camcorder had been the bane of his existence for the last half an hour, and he finally, FINALLY, managed to get it to start working. (His mom had given it to him as a present after graduating college, and he had never used the damn thing until now. There's not much you can use a camera or recording device for when you live a life as boring as his.)

"Welp, if this isn't actually recording anything, this is gonna be an awkward experience for everyone walking past me." A smile spread across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling in one of the few genuine smiles he'd had in a while. "It'd be my fucking luck for people to think I'm a loon for talking to myself in my ugly fucking van."

He took in a deep breath, slapping his face lightly as a means of waking himself up, leaving red marks on his cheeks. "Christ, you can do this, I mean... nobody's gonna watch this shit anyway, right? Other than maybe your family once you're dead."

He let out the breath, in a long continuous sigh, as though moving or breaking the flow of air in any way would be a sin.

"Okay. Uh, hi? How the hell do YouTube people do this? Whatever, not important. Uh, my name is Foster. I'm 24 years old, and I was born and raised in a tiny little town in Maine. I love to make music, I love to write, and... Why am I telling you all this? Just get it out of the way, Foster. Okay. So. Uh...

"I don't want to be alive anymore."

There's a lingering pause in the air, the temperature in the van seemingly dropping at the words. His gaze was focused into the lens of his camcorder, and he fought back against the tears that threatened to escape his eyes.

"So, you might ask, why are you recording your suicidal self-rambling, Foster? Also, you look weird. Your eyes are big. I don't like them. First of all, thank you, I've never heard that before, especially not from transphobic assholes at my high school, it does wonders for my self image, way to make a suicidal idiot feel loved. And second of all, I'm giving myself a year. This is the first day of the rest of my life, either literally or figuratively, depending on what happens.

"A year. 365 days. Well, 366, if this were a leap year. But it's not. I never understood that anyway. Fuck, I'm rambling again. Uh, so, I'm giving myself a year to find meaning in this stupid, boring existence of mine. I know, so fucking pretentious, maybe you should just get it over with already, save the world some trouble. And you're probably right, but hey. I'm not completely hopeless... at least I don't think I am just yet. Give me time though, I can get there."

Foster couldn't hold back the laughter that was tickling the back of his throat anymore. This was a stupidly hilarious situation, looking at it from an outsider's perspective. This suicidal kid is giving himself a year to find a meaning to life, and he decided that his best course of action was to vlog himself? The sheer drama of it all would honestly be enough to make someone chuckle at least.

"So yeah, this is day one. I'm in my disgusting van -- I call her Slimer, 'cause she's big and green and hideous. And I'm parked outside a gas station somewhere close to the border between Maine and New Hampshire. I'm going on a road trip. My best friend is coming with me, her name is Dahlia, and she's inside getting snacks. Probably just a bunch of Cheetos, because she's a selfish asshole that can't think of anything or anyone but herself. I'm the one that's gonna be dead by the end of this, she could at least get me some fucking Pringles, right? Waitwaitwait, she's coming out right now."

He grabbed the camcorder and turned it around, facing out the window of the beat-up van, towards the front of the gas station. A gorgeous girl with long legs and bleached blonde hair stepped out of the glass doors, holding a bunch of bags of chips, sodas, and candy bars in plastic bags. If the act she was currently in the midst of wasn't so mundane, one could easily mistake her for a painting or a sculpture.

"That's Dolly! She's gorgeous, and she's a selfish asshole as I previously mentioned. She's also better at driving than me, and not suicidal, so she's gonna be behind the wheel for the rest of these vlogs."

The back door behind the driver's seat opened, and Foster turned the camcorder back around. She sat down the bags of snacks delicately, and Foster reached back behind his seat and flipped her off.

"Hi, Dolly!" he said, in a higher and more friendly tone.

"Fuck off, Barnes," she replied, flipping him off in turn. Her nails were short, but painted baby pink, save for her ring finger on each hand, which was painted black. "You keep pulling that shit and I'm leaving you behind somewhere in Nebraska. And I'm taking Slimer too, giving her a new paint job."

Foster feigned shock and horror. "How dare you? At least keep her green, for God's sake!"

"You and I both know good and goddamn well that I'm gonna paint her pink."

"You monster!"

Dolly rolled her eyes and shut the door, walking to the driver's seat and opening its door before gracefully seating herself in front of the steering wheel. Foster grabbed the camcorder and held it in his hands now, focused on her face.

Dahlia Long was beautiful, there was no doubt to that. She had a button nose and deep brown eyes that shone caramel in the proper angles of sunlight. Her lips were round and pouty, always covered in lip gloss. The shades of the lip gloss would vary every day, but they always had some kind of glitter in them. Her smile was bright and perfect and pearly white, and the apples of her cheeks had a natural, cool-toned blush to them. Foster would be lying if he said he hadn't had a crush on her for a year after meeting her in college. Dahlia could genuinely have been a model, and yet she was hanging out with him, and she was in fucking Maine.

"This is Dolly, she's my best friend and I love her very much," Foster cooed.

Dolly waved her fingers to the camera delicately, a charming smile on her face. "Hello to the three people watching this in the future!"

"You suck."

"What? I'm just telling the truth! And to be honest, I feel like three people might even be high-balling it."

Foster playfully shoved her shoulder with one hand, and she stuck her tongue out at him in response. "Keep annoying the driver, see what happens, twink."

He set the camera back on the dash of the van, and the two friends turned their heads to look into the lens, facing forward now. Foster rubbed his hands together, calloused fingers rubbing against clammy palms.

"So uh, yeah. We're trying to see if we can visit every state on this trip. And hopefully, by this time next year, I'll have magically found a cure to my depression and suicidal ideation. And if not, well, this'll be a fun clip to show at my funeral, huh Dolly?"

Dahlia swatted his arm. "Shut up, things are gonna be okay. You know that, right?"

"God, I hope so."

She started up the van, and Foster reached forward to turn the camera off.

"I hope you didn't say anything shitty about me, Barnes."

"I didn't! I said that you're beautiful and I love you and that your presence brings a light to my life that I've never felt before, and that were you not a lesbian and me a dude, we could probably be romantic soulmates."

Dolly rolled her eyes. "Nobody speaks like that. Unless you do, in which case, we're not friends anymore I think."

Foster let out a laugh -- a raspy, unmusical thing, fried from the years of singing without proper technique, the screaming into his pillow through teary eyes, the voice changes between octaves thanks to testosterone. Deep down, even though it felt genuine, he felt guilty about it.

"I don't. And we still are. At least we better be. Otherwise this ride is gonna be really awkward for the next 364 days."

Dolly turned her head backward to see what was behind her as she pulled out of their parking space, words muffled as she spoke. "You're a dumbass."

"I know. But you care about this dumbass."

"Unfortunately I do."

And with that, they were on the road. Foster didn't feel the need to turn the camcorder on again for a while, just enjoying the way that the breeze flowed through the open windows of the van, and into his hair.

Plus, whatever he couldn't document on video, he could always write down.

An added challenge that he had put upon himself for the year was to write a poem or a song each day, about something or someone that he cared about that day. It was less so for anyone else, and more for him. He was a creative at heart, and if he didn't have some kind of creatively fulfilling task to do every day, he'd probably have killed himself long before the year was up.

So he decided to write about Dolly.

"Your words make colors in my mind  
Baby pink all over  
I sometimes wish that you could have loved me  
But simply being close to you is more than you'll ever know

Every now and again I thank a God that doesn't exist that you chose me  
Broken and covered in ink and soot and ash  
Dirty gray all over  
I sometimes wish that I could have loved you  
And I did for a brief second  
No matter how ingenuous its origins were  
Simply knowing that you exist brings me joy in ways that you'll never realize

I want to dance with you under the light of stars  
Kicking up the dust in the desert  
Avoiding the fluorescent lights of oncoming traffic  
Midnight blue all over  
I sometimes wish that I could love you all over again

Your smile makes colors in my mind  
Your side profile as you watch the road ahead of us  
Driving me to this supposed promise land of serotonin and eternity  
Lush green and gold all over  
I sometimes wish that I could love you even more  
And I do for a brief second  
No matter the playful insults you hurl my way  
Simply realizing that you want me to be happy again  
Makes me happier than you'll ever know"


End file.
